Claimed By Desire

Chosen

Amara.

The elevator was silent—too silent.

Just the low hum of movement and my shallow breathing echoing inside its mirrored walls.

My palms were sweaty. Not metaphorically—actually damp. My curls were pinned into something that resembled a professional updo, my blazer was sharp, and I had heels on that could kill a man. I looked every inch the boss woman I'd always wanted to be.

But my stomach?

Doing gymnastics.

The moment I walked into the lobby of Thorne Enterprises, I felt it—that weight in the air.

The kind of power you couldn't see but could feel. People walked like soldiers. Sleek black suits, earpieces, sharp gazes. No one strolled. No one chatted. It was like stepping into a fortress made of steel and secrets.

I'd never felt so… noticed and ignored at the same time.

Security had checked my ID, scanned my retina, and issued me a silver badge with the number "77" engraved on it. Then I was led to a private elevator by a woman who smiled without actually smiling.

Now, here I was—floor 77. The top of the world, literally and figuratively.

The elevator doors slid open with a whisper, revealing a reception area that made the lobby look modest by comparison.

Marble. Velvet. Gold accents. Silence.

A tall woman stood by a glass desk, waiting.

"Miss Blake?" she asked, voice clipped and elegant.

"That's me." My voice came out steadier than I felt.

"Mr. Thorne will see you now. Right through those doors."

She gestured to a massive set of black double doors, each with a golden wolf head carved into the wood.

Wolf heads? Okay.

I walked slowly, heels clicking against the marble like I was heading to judgment day. Each step echoed in the cavernous space, amplified by the silence until it sounded like a countdown.

My heart hammered against my ribs, and I wondered if it was possible to die from anticipation.

The closer I got to those doors, the more I felt it—that same weight from the lobby, but concentrated now, focused.

Like standing too close to a live wire.

The air itself seemed charged with electricity, making the fine hairs on my arms stand at attention.

I paused at the threshold, one hand on the ornate handle, and took a breath that felt insufficient for what lay ahead.

You've got this, I told myself. You didn't build a platform of nearly a million followers by backing down from intimidating men.

I pushed the doors open.

And there he was.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows with his back to me, dark suit tailored to perfection, hands clasped behind him like a king surveying his kingdom.

The office beyond was vast—easily the size of my entire apartment—with dark wood paneling, leather-bound books, and furniture that screamed both comfort and authority.

Lucien Thorne.

The air changed the moment I stepped inside—thicker. Charged. Like the moment before lightning strikes, when every nerve ending in your body screams danger and desire in equal measure.

He didn't turn immediately. Just stood there, silhouette sharp against the backdrop of Manhattan stretching endlessly beyond the glass.

The afternoon sun caught the edges of his broad shoulders, and I found myself studying the way his jacket fit like it had been sewn directly onto his body.

Then he turned slowly, deliberately, like a predator who knew his prey was already trapped.

And holy. hell.

He was beautiful.

Not handsome in a regular, safe way—he was predatory, dangerous. The kind of beautiful that made smart women do stupid things.

Angular jaw that could cut glass, dark hair swept back like a villain in an erotic thriller, and eyes... God, those eyes. They were dark—not just brown, but the color of midnight storms and whispered secrets.

His presence didn't just command the room; it devoured it, consuming every bit of oxygen until I felt lightheaded.

There were lines around his eyes that suggested he smiled often, but his mouth was serious now, full lips pressed into a line that could have been concentration or amusement.

His skin had the kind of golden undertone that spoke of Mediterranean ancestors or long vacations in expensive places.

He was tall—taller than I'd expected—and moved with a fluid grace that reminded me of something I couldn't quite name. Something wild.

"You're early," he said, and his voice... Jesus. Deep, smooth, almost lazy, like he had all the time in the world to seduce every syllable from his tongue.

"Traffic was nonexistent." I forced a smile, walking in with more confidence than I felt. My heels sank slightly into the plush Persian rug, and I focused on that sensation to keep myself grounded. "I figured punctuality would be appreciated in a place like this."

He didn't smile.

He watched me.

Like he was reading me. Like I was a book written in a language only he understood, and he was taking his time with each page.

"I've seen your videos," he said finally, circling his desk with predatory grace and settling into his obsidian chair. The desk itself was a work of art—black marble veined with gold, so polished I could see my reflection in its surface. "You're quite… fiery."

I blinked, trying to process the fact that this man—this powerful, mysterious billionaire—had not only seen my content but remembered it well enough to comment. "I like to think of myself as passionate."

"And anti-submissive."

He said it so casually, leaning back in his chair with one arm draped over the armrest, but I knew that wasn't just a passing observation.

This was a test.

A challenge. He was probing to see how I'd react when my beliefs were questioned by someone who held all the power in this dynamic.

I squared my shoulders, lifting my chin in the gesture that had become my signature move during heated podcast debates.

"I don't believe in submission. Especially not the kind that glorifies male control disguised as romance."

He tilted his head slightly, and I caught a flash of something in those dark eyes—amusement, maybe, or curiosity. His lips curved into something between a smile and a smirk, and I felt an unwelcome flutter in my chest.

"And yet you've agreed to work as an assistant to a male CEO. Isn't that..." He paused, letting the word hang in the air like a challenge. "Ironic?"

The question hit exactly where he'd aimed it—at the contradiction I'd been trying not to think about since I'd gotten his email. But I'd prepared for this, had rehearsed my answer during the elevator ride up.

I smiled sweetly, the expression I'd perfected for dealing with condescending men. "I'm not submitting. I'm infiltrating."

His laugh was soft and dark, like silk laced with smoke, and it did things to my insides that I absolutely could not afford to analyze right now.

"I think I'm going to enjoy working with you, Miss Williams."

My pulse jumped, and I cursed my body's traitorous response. There was something in the way he looked at me—as if he already knew my secrets.

As if he could taste the heat I tried to bury beneath my tailored blazer and feminist armor.

As if he saw right through the confident facade to the woman underneath who hadn't been touched by a man in eight months and was starting to feel the drought in ways that woke her up at night.

"I assume you read the contract?" he asked, tapping a leather folder on his desk with one long finger.

"I did. And I have questions."

"Ask them."

"Why me?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he rose from his chair and walked around the desk, each movement fluid and purposeful. There was something almost stalking about the way he moved, all controlled power and barely leashed energy.

"You stood out." he said, calmly.

"That's vague." I replied.

"I like vague. It keeps things interesting." His voice dropped an octave, sending shivers down my spine. "You're here because I chose you."

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Because of my influence? My social media following?"

He stopped in front of me. Too close. Close enough that I could smell him—something dark, earthy, almost... primal. Like pine forests and thunderstorms and something else I couldn't identify but that made my blood hum with recognition.

"Because of your fire," he said softly, and I felt the words as much as heard them. "Most women want to please. You want to conquer. That intrigues me."

I hated how my breath caught. Hated the way my body responded to his proximity like he was a magnet and I was made of metal.

This was exactly the kind of dynamic I'd spent years warning women about—the powerful man who made you feel special, helpless, chosen, until you forgot who you were in the intoxication of his attention.

"Do you always make your assistants uncomfortable?" I asked, proud that my voice came out steady despite the chaos in my chest.

"Only the ones worth watching."

The room spun a little. The air between us crackled with something that felt dangerous, like standing too close to a fire that could either warm you or consume you entirely.

This man was dangerous.

And I had just agreed to work under him.

He stepped back—finally—and reached for something on his desk. A sleek black keycard that caught the light like obsidian.

"Welcome to Thorne Enterprises, Miss Williams. Your office is adjacent to mine. You start tomorrow. 7AM."

I took the card with fingers that I willed to remain steady. The plastic was warm from his touch, and I tried not to think about what that meant.

"Thank you."

"And one more thing," he said as I turned to leave, my hand already on the door handle.

I looked back over my shoulder, and the sight of him standing there—powerful, composed, absolutely in control—made my stomach flip.

"Don't wear red lipstick to the office," he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather.

I frowned, confusion cutting through the haze of attraction. "Why?"

His eyes gleamed with something dark and promising, and when he smiled, I saw a flash of something that looked almost like fangs.

"Because I'll think about smearing it."

My legs almost buckled, but I locked my knees like a soldier under fire.

My mouth opened. Closed. Heat flooded my body like I'd been dipped in molten gold, starting low in my belly and spreading outward until I felt flushed from head to toe.

My body responded with an intensity that shocked me—pulse racing, breath shortening, thighs clenching involuntarily.

I wondered what my followers would think if they saw me like this?

I left before I could say something unprofessional—or collapse.

The heavy doors closed behind me with a soft thud that sounded final, like the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another.

I stood there for a moment in the reception area, Ms. Chen's curious gaze burning into my back, and let out a slow, ragged breath that did nothing to steady my racing heart.

What the hell did I just sign up for?

And why was I already looking forward to tomorrow?